Three cruisers, over a dozen frigates, and dozens of other support vessels—the scale of the fleet was terrifying. Anyone else would have felt a sense of overwhelming threat. But for Katchi the Mek, he saw more than just danger; he saw opportunity.
"Blimey!" he whispered to himself, his eyes fixed on the scrap-style data slate in his hands. "Lookit all dem humie big-fings..."
The surrounding Greenskins began to stir. Some boyz wanted to retreat and head back to report, fearfully claiming they couldn't win this fight. Others felt their hands itching for a brawl, wanting to charge in regardless of the odds.
"Retreat? What'z you talkin' 'bout?!" Katchi slapped the head of the boy who spoke, sending him spinning in place. "Chandler put us 'ere to guard. We stay 'ere dis long and just leave? How'z we gonna tell 'im dat?"
"But, Boss, dere's too many of 'em! Dey's big and dere's loads!"
Katchi stared at the light dots on the screen, his eyes darting around. He was a Mek; unlike ordinary boyz, he used his brain. He noticed that while the fleet was powerful, they hadn't launched an attack yet. This meant they hadn't discovered his force. The enemy was in the light while he was in the dark. He decided to wait a bit longer to see if they would expose a weakness.
Before long, the opportunity arrived. The humie fleet split up. The two largest ships, accompanied by half the frigates, began to advance. The remaining large ship and the other half of the fleet stayed put, as if waiting for something.
Katchi quickly realized this was a rare chance. Through a rough speed calculation, he estimated that the advancing vanguard was already more than ten thousand meters away from the main force. In the vacuum of space, this distance was significant.
"Da chance! It'z comin' now!" A mad glint flickered in Katchi's eyes. He suppressed the agitation among his subordinates, forcing them to remain in ambush. Wait. Just a little longer.
Minutes ticked by. The two forward ships moved further away, exceeding thirty thousand meters and leaving the confines of the asteroid belt. Meanwhile, the large ship at the rear remained stationary, like defenseless prey.
Katchi licked his lips. "Now! Charge, ya gits!" he roared in excitement.
At his roar, the dead asteroids "came alive." As if they had grown eyes, they hurtled toward the stationary fleet one by one. The asteroid strike paralyzed a destroyer and drained a portion of the Measure of Discipline's void shield reserves.
But it wasn't over. Behind the moving asteroid cluster was Katchi's carefully prepared ambush force: one hundred and twenty-one Ram-Ships. Like a pack of sharks smelling blood, they surged out from the asteroid belt, heading straight for the Measure of Discipline. Each Ram-Ship was packed with frenzied Ork boyz, laughing and howling, ready to trade their lives for a great human ship.
Katchi sat in the cockpit of one of the Ram-Ships, personally taking the helm. His heart hammered with excitement. Those asteroids had succeeded; they had scrapped a destroyer and touched the big ship's shields. What did that mean? It meant it was doable!
"Go!" he roared. "First one to board dat big ship gets to be me second-in-command!"
The swarm of Ram-Ships charged at full throttle. The point-defense batteries of the Measure of Discipline opened fire frantically. Defense turrets spun like mad, spitting out thousands of shells every second. One Ram-Ship after another exploded into fireballs, debris scattering across the starscape. The screams and maniacal laughter of the Ork boyz mingled in the comms channels.
The remaining vessels ignored the carnage of their comrades and pressed on. Instead of faltering, they became faster and more crazed. Three Ram-Ships broke through the fire-net simultaneously, slamming into the Measure of Discipline's starboard shields.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Three fireballs erupted on the shield's surface before being swallowed by blue light. The energy reserves dropped by more than ten percent in one go. The entire warship shuddered, and the lights on the bridge began to flicker.
Luna's face was ashen. "Void shield energy at fifty-two percent," a Tech-priest reported, a hint of tension detectable even in his cold mechanical voice.
Katchi laughed wildly inside his Ram-Ship. "Gork and Mork be praised! A few more hits and dat ship is scrap!"
What he didn't know was that inside the Measure of Discipline, someone's patience had reached its limit.
"Activate 'Secret Weapon' Number Three!" Luna's furious voice rang through the bridge. Her pupils burned with blue flames, filled with rage, murderous intent, and a long-suppressed madness.
Her adjutant hesitated. "My Lady, are we truly using a 'Secret Weapon'?"
"Secret Weapons" were Dark Age armaments salvaged by the Mechanicus. They were non-renewable assets, and their use was strictly forbidden by Imperial decree.
"There is no one else here!" Luna interrupted him. "The void shields are at fifty-two percent! Do you know how much energy it takes to recharge them? More importantly, if the shield generators are damaged, how much time will we waste on repairs?"
The adjutant was choked by Luna's words. She continued, "And the mobile docks we brought can't handle those repairs. We would have to retreat and return for maintenance. Can you afford the strategic delay that would cause?!"
The adjutant nodded hurriedly, realizing the severity of the situation. "I understand, My Lady!" He immediately contacted the weapons department and issued the order.
The torpedo bays of the Measure of Discipline opened. Two pitch-black torpedoes were launched into the battlefield. They didn't look like any conventional weapon. There was no flame from thrusters, no signal from a guidance system—they didn't even emit any detectable energy fluctuations. They simply drifted rapidly toward the targets like two unremarkable pieces of space junk.
Shadow Vortex Torpedoes. Dark Age weapons kept in the collection of the Brevis branch of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Their principle was to create a miniature vortex leading to the Warp in the target area. Anything caught in it would be pulled in, swallowed, and vanished forever into that dimension of demons and madness.
The final wave of Ram-Ships was charging, with Katchi himself among them. He had seen the terrifying nature of that ship's shield—it was like the appetite of the Great Overboss Ragnor, never quite full. But he didn't care anymore; he would charge first and leave his survival to the grace of Gork and Mork.
Forty Ram-Ships advanced at maximum speed. The wildness and insanity of the Ork boyz could be felt across the vacuum. Halfway through the charge, the two black objects detonated in their midst.
There was no fire or shockwave. Instead, two massive, ink-black vortexes expanded in space. They spun and pulled, tearing at everything in the vicinity. The Ram-Ships were caught as if by invisible chains, swallowed one by one into the bottomless darkness.
The howling of the Ork boyz turned into screams, and the screams turned into silence. Katchi's Ram-Ship was among them. He watched the encroaching darkness, the greed on his face replaced by sheer terror. He wanted to flee, but it was too late.
"NO!!!"
The vortex swallowed him mercilessly. Along with his ambition, his dreams, and all his worldly possessions, he vanished into the endless dark.